Unreasonable
by NightSkyEssays
Summary: Robin’s feeling insecure. When Robin and Starfire begin to fall out, they have no idea that in a few weeks they’ll be shooting it out in Europe’s Casanin Clinic, an institute housing various psychotics. Nor do they suspect that the other titans will be ai
1. No Person is an Island

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Robin's feeling insecure. When Robin and Starfire begin to fall out, they have no idea that in a few weeks they'll be shooting in out in Europe's Casanin Clinic, an institute housing various psychotics. Nor do they suspect that the other Titans will be aiming their own guns, claws, and demonic powers. How did things become so darkly hilarious?  
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_One: No Person is an Island - _

With scarcely a glance around the old room with its cracked linoleum walls, scant lighting, archaic picture windows and a leak in the floors, Robin said to himself, "It'll do." He dropped his bags and moved to inspect the bunk built into the wall.

Cyborg came in from behind him, frowning. "Rob, you're not going to make Star thrilled about talking to you down here."

Wearily, Robin said, "That's the point." Already the room withheld a conversation that repelled him; already this had become a grim experience. "We're fighting. That's why I need this room, away from the rest of the Tower."

"But she will be visiting." His eyebrows rose.

Robin replied, "She might not." It was just the beginning for him. Late last night he had come down here and the night before that – it had been his final night of struggling with the impossible, to keep on living with Starfire.

Cyborg shook his head, depositing the rest of Robin's luggage. "If you two would just talk, I'm sure –"

"Sure of what? Sure that we'll kiss and makeup and live happily ever after?"

"Well…"

"Leave."

Cyborg gave him a once-over, as if checking for an illness, then departed; at once Robin shut the door, walked to the bed, and sat down. The irony of their breakup was too much. Starfire had good relations with everyone else. She fixed arguments, never with reason but with her bubbly nature, the irreversible cheer and innocence. Secondly, they had never been a couple. How could you break something that had never been there?

The fact was – and he had to face it – that regardless of the lack of reason, the team would side with Starfire on this one. He would be labeled unstable, unreasonable. The look Cyborg had given him was enough conformation of the idea.

Unstable or not, Robin planned to continue with his job. Jump City needed persons to fight the inhuman powers. And the said powers needed a leader. Raven or Cyborg, perhaps, would be adequate as a substitute for a time but still…To crawl away into the depths of the Tower like an insect and never come out was too close to defeat.

Just a few months ago the crisis had come. Someone had been taken hostage, Terrance Esteban, producer of the one and only Dexter Blue TV show. He'd owned a major piece of the popular TV comic. Getting Mr. Esteban away from the clutches of the criminal had been easy. The kidnapper was small-time and overwhelmed. The problems had come afterward. In a little side dealing, although no one would call it this but Robin – Starfire had passed to Esteban several private programming scripts, which Robin had been working on, for various inventions. Esteban had read them with interest because these – and this explained Starfire's selection – contained a fair amount of genies. Next, she had arranged, at Esteban's request, a meeting between him and Robin.

Now, sitting at the bed of the small, drab room, into which he had not unpacked so much as one article of clothing, Robin recalled the conversation with Starfire, which had revealed the need to get out. It had been viscous, certainly classic; it had epitomized the breach between the two of them. To Starfire the issue had been clear: here was a sidejob possibility. It had to be poked thoroughly into. Esteban would pay well, not detract pay for times Robin had to save the world, and the job would carry a great amount of prestige. It would reveal his mind's inner workings, perhaps. It was conspicuously creative, alive.

"You're acting like a neffigin in a satellil," Starfire had said. "You've given up everything but this."

"Listen," he said futilely. "Are you my mother? My wife? I mean, is it your job to goad me on? Do I have to keep rising?"

Evidently Starfire wanted him to be another person. She, the one who knew him best, wanted him to change. If he took the job writing for Dexter Blue he would become different – or so her logic went.

He could not deny the logic. It might loosen him up, make him less tense. And yet he persisted; he changed nothing. Something in him was just too inertial. For better or worse. There was a hystereis to one's essence; he did not put by that essence easily.

He heard a knock on the door and opened it.

He felt fright, and sense of increased failure; he had not even been able to pull off this – find a temporary place in which to live where Starfire could not locate him. In a few more days he could have set up cameras, trapdoors, and a system of ropes and pulleys that made him impossible to locate, but at this point he had to admit her. He thought, she will make a speech which will embody every known reasonable appeal. I, of course, will not remember my argument, just my feeling that we can't go on.

Starfire stood there, dressed in the usual outfit, beautiful with her straight red hair without makeup, a calm competent woman. "Robin," she said, "I've arranged for the others to help you move your things."

So, he had been wrong. There was no speech of sweet reasonability. On the contrary, she was making this final. He was absolutely stunned.

"I've also inquired to Cyborg about vacationing. I would like to explore Europe." Starfire made no move to come in; she simply stood there. And he felt desperate, despairing panic, the panic of defeat and suffering; he had lost already.

"How – long will you be gone?" he asked.

"Six earth months." There was something of an unspoken question in that statement. Robin said nothing.

Later, after she'd left, he sat back on the bed for a time, unpacked a bit, and watched Beast Boy and Cyborg lug more suitcases into the tiny room. Neither said anything, but Beast Boy laughed nervously. Robin felt some satisfaction that Starfire had not pushed Raven into the same task.

But he still saw Rae. He was sitting on the bed with his head resting on his hands when it was her turn to come through the door.

"You should have knocked," he told her.

"I wished to enter before you fell asleep."

"You should know that it's not my fault that Star and I ended up like this!" he suddenly found himself shouting to the unemotional look.

" 'No person is an island'" Raven more or less quoted. "I had planned to come and see if I could borrow some of your yogurt but in view of your preoccupation it seems an insulting request."

Robin looked for a hint of humor and found none.

"You know, if you took another job for a short time, no one would blame you."

"Not thanks," Robin said roughly. "I just want to be left alone." He had already endured enough prodding in this area to last him a lifetime.

"Starfire is just trying to help. I'll give you $500 out of my salary if you decide to go with her to Europe. Consider it a loan if you want."

"Why would I want to go to Europe with her? Leave the Titans?" Irritably, Robin said, "Can't you that this whole second job thing is stupid, as is Europe? Being a Titan is enough to fill a whole life."

"Subconsciously – well, you don't want your subconscious read back to you. You need something besides a job. Give me five hours. And remain here." And she left.

Shakily, Robin returned to seat himself on the bed. And wait.

It was hard to know how to react to Raven's charitable offer; he was both angered and touched – and, in addition, puzzled. What was she going to get him that he needed?

He waited one hour.

A knock sounded on the door. Rising, Robin went to the door and opened it.

A girl stood there.


	2. Becoming Acquainted

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_Two: Becoming Acquainted - _

Although she had many things that she could be doing Starfire was taking time off for a personal item. She rode in a cab beside Beast Boy to the Fifth Avenue office of Terrance Esteban, the producer of Dexter Blue show. A week ago she had given him another batch of Robin's latest – and best, according to Cyborg, scripts which Robin had written for the Tower security; it was now time to find out if her friend had a chance at the job.

If Robin would just be happy again…It was her duty, if for no other reason than she was indeed Robin's friend, to try to help him.

Let off at the front of the building, Beast Boy and Starfire, in short time, were descending by elevator to floor Nineteen. She came to the glass door, hesitated, then allowed it to open and entered the outer office in which Mr. Esteban's receptionist – very pretty, with much make-up and a rather tight spider-silk sweater – sat.

"Yes?" the receptionist said, glancing up through an ornate, stylish monocle.

"We're here to see Mr. Esteban," said an enthusiastic Beast Boy. Starfire was afraid she couldn't work up as much enthusiasm. What if Robin's scripts were declined? He had been so withdrawn lately, cold and easy to make angry. He seemed as if he wanted nothing to do with her.

After a series of bureaucratic actions on the receptionist's part they were sent in.

At his imitation oak desk Terrance Esteban sat with a video tape projector, deep in his business tasks. "Just a moment, Starfire." He pointed to some chairs; they seated themselves.

On the miniature TV screen Dexter Blue was doing an act in which he played a German industrialist; wearing a blue, double-breasted suit, he was explaining to his board of directors how the new autonomic plows which their cartel was producing could be used for war. In his heavy accent Dexter explained this, putting it as if it were a great achievement and Esteban chuckled.

Beast Boy and Starfire exchanged a look. Beast Boy sometimes watched the Dexter Blue show but he didn't understand this one either. "You know Mr. Esteban," said Beast Boy, "that I'm something of a comedian myself." His eyebrows waggled.

Reluctantly, Esteban stopped the video tape and turned toward them. Ignoring Beast Boy's comment, he directed his attention to Starfire. "I showed Dexter the scripts. He's interested. Your teammate's wit is dry, moribund, but his technical knowledge would be well worth having on our team."

Starfire's lips split into a grin. "Really? You can use him?"

"We're nowhere," Esteban said, "until Robin sees Dexter; there's no use your – "

The office door opened and Dexter Blue entered.

This was the first time Starfire had seen the famous TV comic in person and she felt curious; how did he differ from his public image? He was, she decided, a little shorter, quite a bit older, than on TV; he had a large bald area and he looked tired. In fact, in real life Dexter looked like a worried older-Beast-Boy in a rumpled suit, not quite well-shaved, thinning hair disarrayed. And smoking the shortened remains of a cigar. But his eyes were alert and warm.

Beast Boy practically leapt out of his chair. "Mr. Blue, wow, what an honor." He grabbed the comic's hand, shook it vigorously, and proceeded to ramble. "I'm a fan, a big fan. Your show is definitely one of the top favorites on Thursday evenings. Just wonderful stuff, really, wonderful."

"Dex," Terrance Esteban said, "This is Starfire and Beast Boy; their friend wrote those programs I showed you last Thursday."

The comic disengaged his hand from Beast Boy's and extended it to Starfire. She shook hands with him and said, "Mr. Blue – "

"Please," the comic said. "That's just my professional name. My real name, the one I was born with, is Lionsblood Regal. Naturally I had to change it; who goes into show biz calling himself Lionsblood Regal? You call me Lionsblood or just Blood. Terrance here calls me Li-Reg – it's a mark of intimacy."

"Li-Reg," Esteban said, "is your cable address: you've gotten in mixed up again."

"That's so." Blue released Starfire's hand. "Well, Starfire, Beast Boy," the comic said, "I'll hire your friend if I get to see you both now and then. If he understands the real reason for the deal, what diplomats call the 'secret protocols.'" To Terrance Esteban he said, "And you know how my protocols have been bothering me lately."

Starfire giggled excitedly, nearly jumping up and clapping her hands while Beast Boy said, "Great, we'll write the address down…Uhm, you might need a boat." He took pen and paper and jotted.

"Tell him you need him; tell him – "

"But I don't need him," Dexter Blue said quietly.

Starfire said, with caution, "Couldn't you see him, Mr. Blue? Friend Robin has been sad lately – "

Plucking at his lower lip Blue said, "You're afraid he's in a depression?"

She nodded sadly.

"But it's his life. It's for him to decide."

"Friend Robin," Starfire pleaded, "needs help."

Blue shrugged. "I'll either drop by his place or send someone from my staff. We'll give him a six weeks' try...get him started doing lights, then maybe move up. Is that alright?"

Beast Boy and Starfire grinned. "Thanks!"

* * *

The girl in the doorway said in a soft, hesitant voice, "Um, I'm Rebecca Jones. Raven said you'd just moved in here." Her eyes roved; she was looking past Robin into the room. "You don't have your things moved in yet, do you? Can I help? I can put up curtains and clean the shelves in the restroom, if you want."

Robin said, "Thanks but I'm okay."

She was, he decided, not even fifteen; she wore her hair in one large massive braid down her back, and it was brown hair, without particular color, really just ordinary hair. And quite white, much too page. And, it seemed to him, her neck was a trifle too long. She had no figure to speak of, although she was at least slender. Rebecca Jones wore skin-tight dark pants and slippers and a cotton man's-style shirt.

"Did – did Raven send you?"

"Cyborg sent me." She smiled slightly. She had, he saw, very fine small even white teeth, quite regular, well-formed. Almost perfect in fact. "Actually, Cyborg invented me."


End file.
